


Become So Numb

by CranApplePye



Series: Beneath My Skin [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Abused Stiles, Angst, BDSM, Beating, Blow Jobs, Bruises, Dubious Consent, Hurt Stiles, M/M, NSFW Art, Nudity, Oral Sex, Power Imbalance, Punishment, Rough Sex, So much angst, Spanking, Triggers, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 00:36:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CranApplePye/pseuds/CranApplePye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By the time he finally guided Stiles' head towards him, it was almost a relief because it meant they were almost done.  All Stiles wanted to do was get this over with.  He wanted to be home.  He wanted to shower and take a million Tylenol.  He wanted to shut himself in his room and play his music too loud and just not think about anything.  Not about how he'd almost gotten his friends killed.  Not about the slew of supernatural nasties they'd inadvertently brought swarming down on their own heads.  Not about the fact that he was close to failing two classes in school and still couldn't get through this damn invocation without burning himself, despite the way his teacher was quite literally trying to beat it into him.  </p><p>Callused fingertips caressed his jaw and a thumb slid across his lower lip, coaxing his mouth open.  </p><p><em>Especially not think about this. </em> </p><p>-----<br/>Short ficlet and accompanying artwork.  <strong>The artwork is extremely NSFW. </strong><br/>Story contains a lot of potential triggers, please heed the tags.<br/>This is part of a small series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Become So Numb

**Author's Note:**

> This picture and scene and the others in this series are the product of a story idea I can't shake, but have no time to write properly. You can read my explanation of the idea in [the first part of this series](http://archiveofourown.org/works/980278). If anyone would like to take the idea as a prompt and run with it, feel free! :)
> 
> Once again, please heed the warnings. Feedback always appreciated! Thanks!

 

 

By the time he finally guided Stiles' head towards him, it was almost a relief because it meant they were almost done.  All Stiles wanted to do was get this over with.  He wanted to be home.  He wanted to shower and take a million Tylenol.  He wanted to shut himself in his room and play his music too loud and just not _think_ about anything.  Not about how he'd almost gotten his friends killed.  Not about the slew of supernatural nasties they'd inadvertently brought swarming down on their own heads.  Not about the fact that he was close to failing two classes in school and still couldn't get through this damn invocation without burning himself, despite the way his teacher was quite literally trying to beat it into him. 

Callused fingertips caressed his jaw and a thumb slid across his lower lip, coaxing his mouth open. 

_Especially not think about this._

The fingers tightened on his chin, drawing him forward almost gently.  It was the first gentle touch he'd had from those hands today.  The older man had been in a mood all evening and Stiles' continued failure to master the spell he was trying to teach him hadn't gone over well, as testified to by the teen's welted, stinging skin. It was a good thing it was Friday, because otherwise he would have had a hard time sitting through class tomorrow. _Again._

The tug on his chin became more insistent and Stiles' face went blank, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular as his hand rose automatically to caress already hard and leaking flesh in front of him.  His fingertips glided along the hot length as he angled it towards him.  He knew by now what to do, what was expected of him.  It wasn't like it was difficult, not really.  The mechanics were fairly straightforward. 

He took the head of the weeping cock in his mouth, letting his lips and tongue wrap around it.  His motions were practiced and rote.  He felt the sensations and tasted the bitter, salty flavor, but there was as part of him that wasn't really there, protected by a growing sensation of detachment. He was starting to get pretty good at the whole sucking and licking business, but it quickly became clear that wasn't going to be enough to satisfy tonight. The older man's hand fisted in his hair, pulling Stiles closer as he drove forward with his hips, pushing in deeper, wanting more.

Stiles tried to relax and take it, breathing through his nose. Closing his eyes, he fought to suppress his gag reflex and the crawling sensation in the pit of his stomach as the other man thrust into him like he was trying to fuck his throat.  Okay, so maybe not all of it was that straightforward.  He was still working on this part. The not-gagging-and-throwing-up-when-you're-shoving-your-disgustingly-enormous-dick-down-my-throat part.  His teacher appeared pretty enthusiastic about helping him learn, and like with most of his teachings, he didn't seem to mind at all if Stiles got hurt in the process. 

 _Pain was a teacher._ That's what Finn had told Stiles in the beginning.  That's what he'd told him again today when he tethered the bound, collared, naked boy to a ring in the floor and proceeded to beat him mercilessly with a strap as motivation while Stiles tried desperately to correctly perform the spell that would activate the symbols on his chains and set him free.  It was a difficult and painful invocation and Stiles had made the mistake of saying so last week.  So, this week his sadistic asshole of a mentor had decided to make it more painful for him to _not_ do it.  

Not that it had helped much.  Stiles had nearly melted the manacles and almost set himself on fire in his desperation to force the invocation, which at least meant he was getting closer, but he still hadn't gotten it _right_. All he had to show for tonight was his raw skin, a nasty set of bruises around his wrists and throat and the firm determination that he was going to practice like crazy and figure out what the fuck he was doing wrong on his own, _before_ his next lesson.  Because he was _not_ doing this again.

Stiles whimpered involuntarily, attempting to open his jaw wider and keep his bruised lips over his teeth as the older man continued to thrust into his mouth much too hard.  When the punishing thrusting slowed a little, Stiles took advantage of the reprieve. Blinking away tears, he went to town on the cock in his mouth, sucking and licking and nibbling and taking it as deep as he could, massaging his partner's balls  and stroking his thighs - anything to make it good enough for him that he wouldn't start pounding him again. 

Stiles focused on his task because he wanted to get this bastard off and get out of here, but he felt a quivering, angry tightness in his throbbing jaw and a burning sickness in his stomach when he realized that he was doing exactly what the older man _wanted_ him to do.  The unspoken threat of pain if he wasn't _entertaining_ enough had him tripping over himself to give the asshole stupendous oral and he was going to be working himself ragged this week to master the spell so he wouldn't spend his whole next lesson being tortured again.  Stiles hated being manipulated like this, especially when he could _see_ what the bastard was doing... but it turned out pain _was_ an effective teacher. If that wasn't the most galling and annoying kick in the balls of all time, Stiles didn't want know what topped it.

Stilling his unhelpful thoughts, Stiles focused on getting the job done. Humming and moaning around the hard length trapped in his mouth, he was darkly gratified to feel little tremors running up the older man's thighs under his hands.  There was a certain power to be had in this, in knowing how to pull a reaction from someone and make them on some level vulnerable. He may be the one with few options in this situation, but it didn't mean he was helpless.  He watched and he learned - sometimes rather more than his teacher intended.

Stiles hated this man, but he would use him.  He would use him until he didn't need him anymore and then the pervy douchebag could go fuck himself.  

Until then... he could do this.  He could think about something else and go through the motions. It was just sex.  He was a teenage boy, that was supposed to be all he thought about, right?  It wasn't like anyone else was actually interested in doing this kind of stuff with him, nor was he cheating on anybody. You would have to have actually _had_ a girlfriend or boyfriend at _some point_ in your _pathetic_ life for that to even be a concern. But nope, no worries there. So... no big, right?  Not given the alternative.

A little pain and BDSM-y sex were nothing weighed against the lives of the people he loved.  He wasn't going to lose them.  He wasn't going to be helpless anymore.  He was 100% done with that.  The McCall pack desperately needed a real Emissary and it was pretty clear nobody else was going to take the job. A lot of this magic only worked in human hands and that made _this_ the thing that Stiles could actually do.  As much as he had, once or twice in dark moments, considered asking Scott to bite him, he knew that one extra wolf body wasn't going to do them a lot of good. They didn't need more fangs and claws, they needed someone who had a _freaking clue._  Scott was as good hearted as they came, but he was being forced to grow up way too fast. Being an Alpha didn't give him answers, just more responsibilities that he barely knew how to handle but would kill himself trying to live up to.  _Had_ almost killed himself trying to live up to, in point of fact.

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing raggedly against the dick in his throat and the even more painful memory of Scott chocking on his own blood, body convulsing as his body fought to keep healing his liquefying insides.  Because Stiles had screwed up.  Because Scott had trusted him implicitly and Stiles had thought he knew what he was doing, but he didn't, he was too green and inexperienced and hadn't known about all the little ways in which what they were attempting could go horribly wrong.

Stiles was having trouble breathing again, but it had nothing to do with the slick, warm flesh pressing at the back of his throat and everything to do with the memories he would never be able to get out of his mind or his heart.  He'd almost killed them.  He'd almost killed everyone he most wanted to protect.  Scott, Lydia, his Dad... even Isaac and Allison.  Without supernatural healing, only the two wolves would have even had a chance of surviving that disaster if Scott hadn't figuratively thrown himself on the grenade and taken the worst of it. 

The terrible moment in which he realized everything had gone to hell and they were all about to die was seared into his mind like a scar. _His Dad instinctively grabbing Lydia and trying to shield her. The sickening realization that it didn't matter and they were all going to die because of him. Like Mom._

Stiles couldn't breathe for real now.  He was twisting his head away, struggling with the grip on his hair and scramble backwards in a panicked crab-crawl before he was even aware of what he was doing. The desperate need for air and the panicked desire to run burned through his blood.  His heart was rabbiting out of his chest and he cursed himself for being a complete idiot.  _Cool it.  No freaking out.  NO FREAKING OUT!_  He told himself firmly, trying to breathe slowly and get himself under control.  It wasn't _quite_ a panic attack, not _yet,_ not if he didn't let it get that far. 

Thankfully, despite the rather abrupt fellactio interruptus, Finn didn't follow or try to touch him again right away as Stiles curled over on his knees, hugging himself and focusing on his breathing.  He tightened and relaxed every muscle in his body one after the other, blanking his mind and trying to focus on bland, neutral thoughts - because _happy_ just wasn't happening right now. 

Warmth settled over his shoulders.  He winced as the blanket touched his raw skin, but pulled it around himself anyway, burrowing into the fake sense of security it engendered. 

His asshole of a mentor may be a total dick, but he apparently was smart enough to understand what was transpiring and realize that nothing useful was going to happen until Stiles calmed down.  He said nothing, simply dropped a blanket over Stiles' shoulders, set a glass of water beside him and then removed himself from the immediate area.  Sliding into a robe, he moved to the far end of the room.  Turning on the radio to fill the silence, he worked on something at his desk and completely ignored the shivering teen.

Stiles didn't want to admit that that helped. That Finn's calm reaction and withdrawal was probably the best thing he could have done to keep this from getting worse. That the blanket, the water and the reassuringly normal patter of the local radio station and soothing sound of familiar music helped distract and ground him.  Naturally, the older man knew what he was doing.  He was an asshole, but he was a _smart_ asshole.  If he wasn't, Stiles wouldn't be in this situation in the first place. 

_Not thinking about that.  Not thinking about that._

It took a good fifteen minutes at least, but eventually Stiles' breathing evened out and his aching body sagged with exhaustion as the tension bled away to leave him empty, rather than relieved. 

Despite his supposed inattention, Finn had clearly noticed because he came over as Stiles rose stiffly to his feet, still hugging the blanket around his shoulders.  "Better?" he asked simply.

Stiles just shrugged. "I guess," he murmured, voice still a little raw from how enthusiastically the older man had been using his throat earlier.  The teen shifted slightly from foot to foot, grimacing at the way that pulled at the throbbing welts on his back and rear.  He took a deep, resigned breath, because he knew he'd just managed to screw this night up worse than it already was and he wasn't going to give Finn the satisfaction of being the one to lower that boom. 

"I don't suppose I can just go home now and sleep this off?" he said with an edge to his sarcastic tone that suggested he knew that wasn't going to be happening.  Just because the other man had been calm and practical about the situation didn't mean that Stiles wasn't going to pay.

Finn smiled at him.  It wasn't a pleasant expression. "Of course you can, Stiles.  I'm not keeping you here.  I force you to do nothing. But if you leave ... don't come back." 

"What, and miss out on all this fun and your sparkling personality?" Stiles snorted, his jaw tightening.  _How he would love to leave and never come back.  But he couldn't, and Finn damn well knew that, the smug, smarmy bastard._

With Derek and Cora gone, Deaton missing, Mr. Argent in the hospital and even Peter not bothering to show his annoying mug, they were a pack of freaking _kids._ There were made up of two recently turned teenage werewolves, a banshee who had only just found out what she was, a hunter who had only been clued into the supernatural for the past year or so and _sometimes_ two fairly reluctant former alpha twins  who really didn't want much to do with them, except for the part where they were boning Danny and Lydia, which didn't bare thinking about.  Lydia, that was. He was cool with Ethan and Danny.  The point was, between them all, they had the collective knowledge of a third grader when it came to dealing with all this supernatural shit.  Maybe that wouldn't have mattered normally... but naturally, _they'd_ activated the freaking nematon and turned Beacon Hills into a literal _beacon_ so now every nasty thing imaginable was crawling out of the woodwork to say hello and snack on the populace.  They'd caused this and they had to try to keep everyone safe... but if you couldn't kill it with claws, arrows, courage or wolfsbane, then they were laughably under-armed.

With Chris down, Allison had been all but ostracized from the hunter community because of her choice in alliances.  Lydia was a genius with research, but there was only so much you could learn without better sources. Scott and Isaac had been wolves for less than two years and Ethan and Aiden turned out to almost be as young as they looked and had learned nothing from their past two packs but how to be abused and how to kill.  And then there was Stiles, who had been all too quickly learning that you simply couldn't find all the answers you needed online or in old books.  If he was going to try to fill Deaton's shoes without getting everyone killed - again - he needed to learn everything he could, as fast as he could. 

He needed a teacher, which at the moment, unfortunately meant he needed _Finn_.

Resignation seeping wearily into his bones, Stiles forced himself to respond by simply dropping the blanket and letting it puddle around his feet.  He shivered as the cool air assaulted his naked body again.  He was so tired.  So damn tired.  Eyes empty, Stiles sank back to his knees at Finn's feet.  He just didn't care.  It didn't matter anymore. 

He reached for the front of the silky robe Fin was wearing, but the older man stepped back, out of reach. "Mm, not yet. Stay there, I need to get something." 

Stiles didn't want to know. He really didn't, but he'd find out anyway because somehow this jacked up melodrama had become his life.  So he waited.  Staring at his hands and listening to the soft throb of the music still playing on the radio. 

_I've become so numb, can't feel you there, become so tired, so much more aware. I'm becoming this, all I want to do, is be more like me and be less like you..._

Movement made Stiles look up again.  Finn was back, shrugging out of his robe and laying it on the couch.  He was carrying a thin black riding crop.   _Fuck._


End file.
